■NRLF 


MASQUES 

THE  CHAPLET  OF  PAN 


Li"  J 

CO 


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in  2007  with  funding  from 

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http://www.archive.org/details/chapletofpanmasqOOricerich 


STAGE  GUILD  MASQUES 
'  THE  CHAPLET  OF  PAN  ' 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PAN 

A  MASQUE 
BY  WALLACE  RICE  AND 
THOMAS  WOOD  STEVENS 


THE  STAGE  GUILD 
CHICAGO 


Copyright  by 

Thomas  Wood  Stevens  and  Frances  Viola  Rice. 

All  rights  reserved. 


Notice.  Application  for  permission  to  perform 
this  play  should  be  made  to  The  Stage  Guild, 
1527  Railway  Exchange  Building,  Chicago;  no 
performance  of  it  may  take  place  without  con- 
sent of  the  owners  of  the  acting  rights. 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PAN. 


Dramatis  Persons. 
[Original  production] 

IMMORTALS. 

Pan,  the  Great  God Donald  Robertson 

The  Dryad  of  the  May  Day  -  -  -  Virginia  Brooks 
The  Dryad  of  the  May  Night     -        -        -         Vida  Sutton 

A  Singing  Nymph Grace  Kennicott 

Chorus  of  Nymphs  and  Fauns. 

MORTALS. 

Ugolino,  Prince  of  Capodimonte  -        -      Hermann  Lieb 

Riccardo,  Poet  to  the  Prince  -  -  -  -  Francis  Lieb 
Pietro  Paolo,  Steward  to  Ugolino  -  -  William  Owen 
Baldassare,  the  Prince's  Headsman      -        -      Frank  Hardin 

Ruffo,  a  Goatherd J.  Ralph  Bradley 

Fiametta,  a  Young  Lady  of  Quality  -  -  Alice  John 
Sidonia,  beloved  of  Pietro  Paolo  -  -  Marion  Redlich 
Beffana,  a  Goatherdess      ------  Grace  Wilson 

SCENE. 

A  wood  in  the  gardens  of  Ugolino.  Marble  seats  right  and 
left.  In  the  distance  the  portico  of  the  palace.  Statuary  dis- 
posed among  the  shrubbery.  At  the  right,  a  terminal  figure 
of  a  faun. 

TIME. 

A  May  Day  in  the  Fifteenth  Century. 

Note. — The  Chaplet  of  Pan  was  first  produced  by  Donald 
Robertson  at  Ravinia,  and  was  played  by  him  at  the  Art  In- 
stitute, Chicago,  season  of  1909;  special  performances  were 
given  for  the  Polytechnic  Society,  the  Art  Student's  League 
of  Chicago,  etc.  It  was  also  played  at  Mandel  Hall,  Uni- 
versity of  Chicago,  in  1909. 


38504S 


DEDICATION. 

This  is  for  Kenneth  and  Marjorie 
This  slender  book 
Of  May- 
While  it  is  still  their  Maytime, 
Of  tenuous  plot  and  mirthful  play- 
Before  a  little  lost  becomes  their  playtime, 
Ere  ever  a  year  may  look 
Askance  at  them,  or  see 
Aught  but  the  merry  plan 
Of  living,  loving  on  the  fond  May  Day  ; 
And  if,  long  hence,  when  they  shall  scan 
These  brief,  slight  pages. 
Some  seeming  happy  line  engages 
Strong  eyes 
Or  sweet, 

May  they  think  on  the  great  god  Pan, 
Whose  children  all  are  we, 
And  may  their  spirits  greet 
The  makers  of  this  masque. 
Who  only  ask 
Of  any  skies 

The  granting  of  their  prayer 
Through  every  jocund  month  to  be: 
That  Kenneth  and  fair  Marjorie 
May  always  move  in  sunlit  air 
Down  leafy  aisles. 
O'er  gleamy  lawns. 
Through  hours  that  sing 
And  many  a  year  that  smiles, 
Remembered  by,  remembering 
The  garden  gods  and  nymphs  and  fauns 
Of  everlasting  Spring ! 


THE  CHAPLET  OF  PAN. 

The  first  glimmerings  of  morning  twilight;  a  chorus 
of  unseen  fauns  and  nymphs,  chanting : 

Pan,  earth's  lord,  is  a  very  god,— 

Father  and  brother,  too,— 
Lord  of  the  spirit,  lord  of  the  clod, 

God  of  the  stars  and  dew. 

Blossoms  there  are,  and  piping  birds. 

Herbs  and  trees  and  man, 
Brooks  and  hillocks,  flocks  and  herds, — 

And  all  are  gods  with  Pan. 

We  in  Pan,  and  he  in  us, 
All  in  the  May  Day  weather ; 

He  and  the  Springtime  glorious 
And  we  —  great  gods  together. 

[The  dawn  brightens,  discovering  Pan  awaking  from 
sleep,  his  back  against  a  tree;  he  rouses  himself  and 
rubs  his  eyes.] 

PAN 

Now  do  the  spiteful  constellations  swarm 
Along  the  western  rim  of  night.    Ah,  me! 
I  'm  wearied  with  much  running  after  joy. 
Tired  with  deep  laughter  and  swift-hearted  love, 
All  warm  and  cold  with  April  in  my  veins, 
All  full  and  hungry,  both  at  once,  with  May. 
Here  is  no  time  for  wintry  sleep.    They  '11  say 
That  Pan  grows  old.     .     .     . 

How  many  times,  O  Night,  have  we  fared  forth 
To  watch  along  the  hills  the  trees  in  fear 
Tremble  and  thrill  when  from  the  fervent  South 


The  still,  green  serpent,  like  a  league-long  stream, 
Comes  up  and  clips  the  world,  and  clings  to  it, 
And  squeezes  out  the  milky  juice  of  Spring; 
How  many  times,  my  May  Night!      .... 

Only  to  me  this  one  of  all  my  nights, 
One  for  full  wakening,  running,  keen  encounter, 
And  flying  pulses  from  the  spring  of  Time. 
And  Italy  grows  old :  the  moon  that  in  my  youth 
Turned  all  the  hills  to  gold,  sheds  silver  now ; 
For  Artemis  is  dead,  and  .some  poor  sprite. 
Cold  from  the  North,  comes  down  to  take  her  place. 
The  rose  trees  that  a  thousand  years  ago 
Fed  on  the  dust  of  girls  I  once  had  loved. 
Are  gone,  with  all  their  kisses,  on  the  wind. 

To-night  a  nymph  ran  by  me,  silently. 
Not  laughing  with  the  wonder  in  her  eyes, 
And  so  my  eager  hand  slipped  through  her  hair 
And  she  escaped  me.    But  a  single  tress  was  reft 
And  tangled  in  my  fingers.     .     .    .     I  let  her  go : 
The  tress  was  grey. 

[He  takes  the  chaplet  from  his  head.] 
She  did  not  wait,  not  she; 
But,  had  she  waited,  I  'd  have  given  her  this, 
And  let  her  feel  the  hot,  sweet  leap  of  blood 
That  riots  through  my  chaplet  in  the  Spring. 
This  would  have  made  her  young  and  gay,  .  .  . 
This  would  have  granted  her  one  day  of  mirth. 

[Enter  the  Dryad  of  the  May  Night.] 
Ho,  ho !   Here 's  one  that  knows  me. 

[He  makes  for  her,  hut  she  eludes  him.] 

DRYAD  OF  THE  MAY   NIGHT. 

Not  so  fast,  god  of  the  one  blue  night ! 

PAN. 

O  thou  that  livest  in  the  poplar's  heart, 
Is  it  not  good  to  be,  to  laugh  and  love, 
Roll  in  the  dew,  and  give  the  night  to  joy? 


DRYAD  OF  THE  MAY  NIGHT. 

Yea ;  but  I  've  slept  a  year  within  my  tree. 
I  'm  cramped. 

PAN. 

This  is  a  time  for  mirth. 
Come,  run  with  me,  down  to  the  beaten  marge 
Where  the  sea  whispers,  and  we  '11  play  awhile 
With  Aphrodite's  mother. 

DRYAD  OF  THE   MAY  NIGHT. 

Nay ;  not  yet ; 
My  knees  are  woody  still,  my  feet  unspringing; 
It  needs  a  moment  for  the  sap  to  start. 

[Sees  the  Faun's  head.] 
Who's  this? 

PAN. 

[Putting  his  arm  around  the  Faun's  neck.] 
A  Faun  I  knew  —  an  ancient  friend  — 
They  've  just  dug  him  from  under  centuries. 
[He  crowns  the  figure  of  the  Faun  with  his  chaplet.] 
Wear  now  my  chaplet.    If  its  magic  hold, 
Your  stony  lips  should  lighten  with  rich  laughter, 
Your  cheeks  should  glow  and  puff  with  liquid  mirth, 
And  you  should  shake  away  this  marble  shell, 
And  dance  to  inward  music.     No  ?      He  's  gone. 
The  chaplet  wakes  him  not  —  no  life  in  him. 

[To  the  Dryad.] 
He  was  the  merriest  fellow  in  his  day, — 
A  stealer  of  wine,  one  who  could  laugh  the  hours 
From  twilight  until  dawn. 

DRYAD  OF  THE  MAY  NIGHT. 

Yea ;  I  remember  him.    He  bore  me  off 
One  night  in  summer  to  a  distant  shore 
Where,  still  afloat  among  the  blossoming  waves. 
The  dawn  flew  down  and  found  us.    Not  a  tree 
On  all  the  shore  to  hide  me,  but  a  cave 
Deep  in  the  rocks ;  and  half  the  livelong  day 
As  we  lay  hidden,  scornful  Artemis 


Drew  up  her  waters  and  imprisoned  us. 

He  was  full  of  song.    But  now  —  he  *s  grave  enough. 

PAN. 

And  you,  and  I,  and  all  the  world  grow  grave. 
Bah!    I  am  tired  of  time  and  silences. 
Shall  we  be  conquered  by  the  nibbling  years, 
Shall  we  sit  quiet  like  a  shepherd's  crone, 
And  turn  to  marble  while  the  earth  grows  old? 
Tree-Heart,  burn  with  the  Spring,  leap  with  the 
wave, 

[He  catches  at  her  again,  but  she  escapes.] 
Down   with   me  to  the   temples   that   stand   on   the 

beaches, 
Down  and  dance,  in  the  whirl  of  the  moon's  white  fire. 
Sing,  love  —  way,  come  away! 

[A  ray  of  light  strikes  on  his  face.] 
The  sun  doth  smite  me,  and  the  night  is  gone. 

[Enter  Dryad  of  the  May  Day.] 
Lead  on,  old  Time,  I  '11  follow  for  the  nonce. 

[Gives  a  hand  to  the  Dryad  of  the  May  Day.] 
But  not  until  we  've  greeted  the  glad  day. 

DRYAD  OF  THE   MAY  DAY. 

*T  is  ours,  O  Pan,  to  rouse  a  drowsy  world. 

PAN. 

Aye,  Dryad  of  the  twelvemonth's  splendid  hours; 
Ho,  brothers  and  sisters,  come  dance  the  May! 

[Enter  Chorus  of  Nymphs  and  Fauns.] 

Not  yet  dead  is  the  ancient  world : 

Deep  in  the  heart  of  man  are  furled 

Old  belief  and  pulsing  creed 

Proved  by  many  a  jovial  deed. 

CHORUS. 

Dance  we  then  in  the  merry  May, 
Live  and  love  as  in  earlier  dawns, 

Greet  with  gladness  the  lyric  day, 

Pan  and  his  jocund  nymphs  and  fauns. 


PAN. 

Not  for  us  is  the  pallid  face, 
Lowly  demeanour  and  all  ungrace ; 
Not  while  breathes  a  maid  and  man 
Fails  the  worship  of  great  god  Pan. 

CHORUS. 

Dance  we  then  in  the  merry  May, 

Live  and  love  as  in  earlier  dawns, 
Greet  with  gladness  the  lyric  day. 

Pan  and  his  jocund  nymphs  and  fauns. 
[Exeunt  omnes,  led  by  Pan  and  the  tzvo  Dryads;  Pan's 
chaplet  is  left  on  the  head  of  the  Faun.  The  light 
strengthens  to  mid-morning.  Enter  Ugolino,  greatly 
bored,  followed  by  Riccardo,  who  is  reading  him 
an  original  poem  on  Spring.] 

RICCARDO. 

[Reading.] 
This  is  the  merry  month  men  call  the  May, 
When  even  night  is  bright,  and  gay  the  day; 
When  flowers  and  serpents,  yea,  the  pretty  dove 
Affection  whisper,  and  would  prove  their  love. 
This  is  — 

UGOLINO. 

On  what  proud  day,  aglow  with  Phoebus'  fire — 
Did  you  concoct  that  pitiful  device? 

RICCARDO. 

One  only  sings  as  the  spirit  drives.    Your  Grace, 
I  do  regret  the  verses  please  you  not. 

UGOLINO. 

Have  done  with  cringing  compliment.     How  long 
Have  I  now  had  you  by  me?   Long  enough  to  learn 
H  but  the  Muses  left  one  spark  of  wit  — 
I  only  have  you  for  the  fashion's  sake, 
I  only  praise  you  for  that  you  are  mine  — 
When  it  doth  suit  my  public  humour.    For  myself, 
I  'd  rather  hear  a  bagpipe  squeal.    Riccardo, 


Take  yourself  away ;  go  find  some  girl 

Can  make  you  dance.    Have  done  with  singing. 

RICCARDO. 

Your  Grace,  I  only  go,  or  sing,  or  dance, 
Or  live,  I  may  say,  as  your  Highness  wills. 

UGOLINO. 

Get  you  gone.    Get  you— 

[Exit  Riccardo,  hastily.'] 
He  only  lives  as  I  will !  Mother  of  Heaven, 
Let  him  die,  then.    I  '11  not  be  blamed  for  him. 
May  Day  revels,  forsooth!     I've  that  within— 
A  weary,  windy  space  where  my  heart  was, 
A  nipping,  bleak  November  of  the  soul  — 
Will  make  an  end  to  all  this  May-tide  folly. 
Riccardo,  Fiametta,  Pietro  Paolo, — 
Ye  gods,  how  they  do  bait  and  sicken  me ! 
I  'm  neither  old  nor  young  enough,  they  know. 
To  make  a  sport  of  common  tyranny. 
I  am  not  wont  to  slay  without  excuse ; 
Here  's  self-defense.    They  're  boring  me  to  death. 
Poets  and  thieves  I  have,  and  girls  that  smile; 
But  in  myself  no  tickling  worth  good  laughter, 
No  temper  hot  enough  for  fight,  no  urge, 
No  flickering  tang  in  honest  princely  sin. 
Whose  fault 's  all  this  ?    I  '11  make  an  end  of  them. 

RUFFO. 

[Heard  from  without. 1 
Come  on,  Beffana,  come;  come  on  along! 

UGOLINO. 

More  apes !    Lord,  can  I  never  be  alone  ? 

[He  goes  off  among  the  trees!] 
[Enter  Ruffo   and  Beffana,  he  leading   her   by   the 
hand.] 

RUFFO. 

I^ok  you,  BeflFana,  here 's  the  stone  fellow  I  told  you 
of.  Which  is,  I  take  it,  a  man  that  hath  slept  in  a 
clay-bed,  and  so  turned  to  a  post-top.  ^  Right  where 
he  was,  he  be,  and  has  never  stirred  sin'  yestere'en. 


BEFFANA. 

[Moving  around  the  figure.] 
1  see  nothing  good  to  him.    He  's  lacking  an  ear,  too, 
and  the  other  ear  is  stuffed  with  mud  yet. 

RUFFO. 

That 's  as  well,  too.  He  need  not  listen  to  your  chit-, 
tering. 

BEFFANA. 

My  chittering,  forsooth!  What  think  you  of  his 
looks  ? 

RUFFO. 

Why  this,  Beffana:  he  shows  what  manner  of  men 
there  were  in  Italy  when  he  went  asleep  —  and  an 
ugly  sort,  and  a  bad  sort,  and  a  wicked.  Plainly  the 
goat  is  running  out  of  the  blood.  Men  be  better 
looking  of  these  days.    What  a  horrid  nose ! 

[He  stands  beside  the  Faun.] 

Say,  now,  Beffana,  be  not  the  men  better  favoured  nor 
they  were  ?  Look  o'  me  and  the  stone  fellow.  Say 
now? 

BEFFANA. 

I  see  little,  very  little,  and  the  truth  be  told  — which 
I  will  tell  truth  as  ever -very  little,  as  it  were  — to 
choose  between  the  two  of  you. 

RUFFO. 

Be  off,  you  vixen. 

BEFFANA. 

An  I  were  choosing  a  man  to  watch  goats,  I  'd  take 
you,  Ruffo,  I  would.  He  'd  be  ay  too  friendly  with 
the  flock.     But  for  a  husband— 

RUFFO. 

What  be  you  doing  a-choosing  husbands— at  your 
age,  and  your  man  not  yet  nine  years  dead.  Besides, 
he  hath  a  string  o'  spinach  atop  of  his  head,  which 
is,  I  take  it,  an  uneven  way  to  look  at  us.  Now  I 
take  off  the  spinach,  and  put  it  on  myself,  and  — 


[The  music  sounds  the  chaplet  motive,  and  as  he  puts 
the  wreath  on  his  head,  the  Dryad  of  the  May  Day 
enters,  dancing.  Ruffo  rubs  his  eyes,  laughs  foolish- 
ly, and  starts  toward  the  Dryad.  Beffana  sees  noth- 
ing of  this,  being  engaged  with  her  own  scorn- 
ful laughter.  Ruffo  begins  to  dance  clumsily,  and  is 
led  around  the  stage  by  the  Dryad,  till  he  dances  be- 
fore Beffana.    Exit  the  Dryad.] 

BEFFANA. 

You  look  like  the  roast  pig  to  a  harvest  feast 

RUFFO. 

[Still  dancing.] 
I  'm  not  so  old  my  blood  is  cold, 

Nor  yet  are  you,  my  lassie-bird ; 
Why  should  we  hold  an  empty  fold 

When  love  is  free,  as  I  have  heard. 
And  as  for  you  —  if  I  '11  be  true 

Until  the  sun  o'  morrow, 
Is  youth  so  mad  or  Spring  so  sad 

That  you  should  think  o'  sorrow? 

BEFFANA. 

Come  here,  fool.     What  zany  work  is  this  ?     Maybe 
'tis  a  fairy  wreath,  that  can  make  you  rich.     Give 
it  me. 
[He  dances  around  her;  she  catches  at  the  chaplet.] 
Give  it  me,  I  say.    I  've  a  mind  to  try  it  on. 

[She  gets  it;  the  chaplet  music  sounds  as  she  puts  it 
on,  and  she  stands  chuckling.  The  Dryad  comes  in 
and  dances  before  her  until  she  herself  begins  to 
dance.    The  Dryad  disappears.] 

RUFFO. 

'Troth,  Beffana,  I  never  knew  you  were  so  fair. 

BEFFANA. 

'Sooth,  Ruffo,  I  had  forgot  how  young  we  were. 

RUFFO. 

Beffana ! 


BEFFANA. 

Ruffo! 

[They  sit  together  on  the  bench,  embracing  each  other 
and  still  swaying  to  the  rhythm  of  the  dance.  U go- 
lino  enters  at  the  back,] 

UGOLINO. 

It  cannot  be  such  things  as  these  have  use, 
Save  that  they  mar  a  quiet  world,  stir  up  a  pool 
That  else  would  give  the  sky  to  downcast  eyes. 
It  were  a  worthy  work  so  to  contrive 
That  they  might  serve  a  gentle  purpose. 

RUFFO. 

Gk)  wi'  me  to  the  shore. 

BEFFANA. 

Nay,  come  wi'  me  to  town. 

RUFFO.  . 

I  '11  never  leave  you  more. 

BEFFANA. 

I  '11  go  wi'  you  to  the  shore. 

RUFFO. 

And  we '11  go  together  to  town. 

UGOLINO. 

[Coming  dozvn.] 
Come  hither,  fellow.    Know  you  Messer  Paolo? 

[Ruffo  nods,  still  almost  dancing.] 
Take  you  him  this  key,  and  tell  him  this : 
Madonna  Sidonia  bids  him  come  at  once. 
Here  to  the  Faun's  head. 

[Ruffo  goes  out,  whistling  and  loitering.] 
You,  dame,  take  off  that  chaplet.    Your  age ! 
[She  takes  off  the  chaplet  and  leaves  it  on  the  bench.] 
Bear  you  this  message  to  Madonna  Fiametta. 
Say  to  her :    A  poet  by  the  Faun's  head  waits 
And  hopes  to  see  the  sun  of  heaven  burn 
In  golden  glory  through  the  tree-ways  hither. 


BEFFANA.  ^. 

What  means  all  that,  my  lord  ? 

UGOLINO. 

Mischief,  dame.    Be  you  swift  at  it  1 

BEFFANA. 

[Following  Ugolino  off,  centre.] 
Ruflf o,  Ruffo,  wait  for  me  f 

[Ugolino  claps  his  hands.    Enter  BaldassareJ] 

UGOLINO. 

See  you  yon  goatherds  ?    I  have  given  them 
An  errand  each.    I  would  not  see  them  more. 
I  never  saw  them  till  to-day,  and  yet 
They  weary  me. 

BALDASSARE. 

All  shall  be  done  neatly,  my  lord,  as  you  command. 
[Exit  Baldassare,  centre.] 

UGOLINO. 

If  I  but  cross  them,  they  will  soon  cross  me. 
I M  not  be  bloody.    I  only  ask  for  peace. 
Yet  if  they  will  not  give  me  peace,  and  live 
Out  of  my  sight,  why  then  I  've  leave  to  set 
A  trick  or  two  afoot.    And  when  they  cross  me— 
[Exit  Ugolino,  left.       As  he  goes  out.  Pan  and  the 
Dryad  of  the  May  Day  creep  out  of  the  foliage  on 
the  right.        Pan  takes  up  the  chaplet  caressingly,] 

PAN. 

The  live  things  still  do  dance  my  tune.    My  day 
Stirs  in  these  human  clods  the  urge  of  spring 
And  sets  asprout  the  seeds  of  love  and  mirth. 

[He  crowns  the  Faun  again,] 
Old  friend,  it  grieves  me  that  you  do  not  wake, 
And  that  for  you  my  day  comes  up  in  vain. 

DRYAD  OF  THE  MAY  DAY. 

Some  curious  tyranny  here  they  practice.  Pan. 
Yon  prince  doth  deal  in  plots  and  devilries, 


And  makes  of  love,  on  this  your  day  of  days, 
A  treason  and  a  coil  of  death. 

PAN. 

Let  him. 
We  have  no  fear  of  him,  no  care  of  coils 
That  weave  among  the  faithless  hearts  of  men 
Or  fluttering  souls  of  life.    For  us  the  years 
Slide  on  and  pass  in  quick  succession  by : 
The  blossom  of  our  immortality 
Fades  not,  nor  dies. 

DRYAD  OF  THE  MAY  DAY. 

[Pointing  to  the  Faun.] 
Yet  he  has  tasted  death. 

PAN. 

Not  so ;  and  yet,  he  lives  not.    He  was  one 
Of  my  leal  subjects  while  my  shrines  were  green. 
I  mourn  him  now :  within  his  body  breathed 
A  fervent  fire  that  never  was  a  soul ; 
He  was  an  earthling,  filled  with  earth's  delight, 
But  never  tinctured  with  eternity, 
And  when  that  footless  flame  burned  down 
He  sank  to  earth,  and  naught  of  him  was  left 
To  wander  with  the  troop  of  banished  gods 
In  glorious  exile  out  beyond  the  stars ; 
And  naught  of  him  was  like  the  soul  of  man 
That  lives  beyond  translation  and  decay. 
Thus  much  we  know  of  time :  there  was  a  tide 
That  filled  our  altars  high  with  sacrifice. 
And  poured  out  riches  of  the  sun-loved  earth. 
And  made  us  mad  with  power  and  ecstasy. 
Then,  lo!  the  tide  ebbed  back  into  the  sea, 
And  fallen  temples  white  beneath  the  moon 
Housed  ruined  altars  lacking  wine  and  flame. 
Faith  die  —  so  much  we  know  of  death. 

DRYAD  OF  THE  MAY  DAY. 

And  is  there  in  you  no  quick  pitying  thing 
That  leaps  when  loves  are  cut  away  and  bleed? 


PAN. 

Aye,  loves.    What  shall  loves  do  with  death? 

DRYAD  OF  THE  MAY  DAY. 

These  mortals  seem  to  mix  them  fatefully. 

PAN. 

Ah,  but,  my  Tree-Heart,  this  shall  we  re-mould ; 
The  man  who  plots  of  bloody  deeds  to-day 
Affronts  me  in  my  very  temple  door. 
Behold  the  love  that  the  enfolding  sun 
Doth  press  upon  the  lips  of  Italy ; 
Look  how  the  trees  do  yearn  to  touch  the  sky; 
Look  how  the  gentle  birds  do  sing  and  mate ; 
Look  how  yon  clods  are  maddened  with  divine 
And  fleeting  humours.    Hear  our  nymphs  go  by  — 

[Enter  the  Singing  Nymph.  Pan,  listening  to  her  song, 
follows.] 

THE  SINGING  NYMPH. 

By  the  rain  that  fills  the  day. 
Dripping,  sombre  skies  of  grey, 
The  Faun  I  love  has  gone  away ! 

By  the  greening  grass  and  tree, 

Birds  with  mating  melody, 

The  Faun  I  love  comes  back  to  me ! 

By  the  suns  that  softly  shine, 
All  things  tender,  all  things  fine. 
The  Faun  is  here— my  love  is  mine ! 

[Exit  the  Singing  Nymph.    Pan  shakes  off  the  reverie 
of  the  song,  crying  triumphantly.'] 

PAN. 

And  Pan  is  here  —  and  love  is  thine. 

'  [He  runs  hack  to  the  Dryad.] 

This  coil 
Is  ours  to  scatter.    See,  now  cometh  one 
Who  brings  the  tyrant's  token.    Watch,  Tree-Heart. 

[Pan  and  the  Dryad  go  off,  stealthily,  and  Pietro  Paolo 
enters  hurriedly,  looking  about  him.] 


PIETRO  PAOLO. 

[Calling  softly.] 

Sidonia,  Lady  Sidonia. 

[He  listens  a  moment,  and  then  takes  out  the  key.] 

Madonna  Sidonia  sendeth  me  a  key. 

What  means  that,  I  wonder  ?    A  key,  sometimes, 

Symbols  possession— she  means  to  give  her  heart, 

Scarred  with  past  battles  and  my  year-long  siege. 

Into  my  keeping.    Pleasant  May  Day  fancy ! 

[He  takes  up  the  chaplet.] 

She  comes.    I  '11  not  seem  to  mark  her. 

[Enter  Fianietta,  also  hurriedly.  As  he  turns  toward 
her,  Pietro  Paolo  flings  down  the  chaplet  at  her  feet, 
saying,] 

Garlands  for  your  path,  madonna. 

[The  key  falls  with  the  chaplet.  Pietro  Paolo,  who  has 
bowed  low  in  flinging  the  chaplet,  now  sees  that  he 
has  flung  it  to  the  wrong  lady,  and  exclaims  impa- 
tiently,] 

Fiametta ! 

FIAMETTA. 

Take  it  for  your  own,  Pietro.  Only 
See  to  it  that  your  path  lead  hence. 
[Pietro  picks  up  the  chaplet.    She  seats  herself,  and 

looks  hack  at  him.] 
Not  gone  yet? 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

Not  yet.    I  'm  minded  to  stay  here,  forsooth. 
There  's  many  a  pleasanter  spot,  I  '11  warrant  you ; 
But  I  '11  none  of  them.    Here  '11  do  for  me. 

[He  seats  himself.] 

FIAMETTA. 

It 's  a  sad  world.  .  .  . 
Here  I  be  comfortably  established, 
With  a  long,  sweet  May  Day  melancholy. 
Alone  and  innocent ;  then  you  needs  come 
And  bring  a  face  whereat  I  can  but  weep. 
And  a  sound  like  a  man  counting  money. 


PIETRO  PAOLO. 

I  do  admit,  madonna,  that  you  mar 
The  tender  glory  of  this  sunlit  spot 

FIAMETTA. 

Ah,  glory  doubly  marred !    Ah,  weary  day ! 

f  [Both  look  off  stage  expectantly.] 

Ah,  to  be  safely  home  again,  for  there 
I M  lock  you  out,  signore,  and  have  peace. 
[In  looking  for  the  expected  arrivals  they  come  face 
to  face,  and  each  draws  hack.] 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

[Musingly.] 
I  cannot  fathom  why  you  so  pursue  me ! 

FIAMETTA. 

Insolent !    Have  you  taken  earth-roots  here, 
And  sit  and  grow,  and  never  will  be  gone? 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

In  sooth,  I  'm  wearied  out.    I  do  admit  it. 
You  have  me  run  to  ground  at  last.  .  .  . 

FIAMETTA. 

Then  should  Sidonia  follow  fast  and  seize 
Her  breathless  quarry.    Alas,  poor  Sidonia, 
That  she  should  chase  so  far  and  win  so  little ! 
Signore,  you  forget  what  day  it  is. 
Caper  a  bit,  and  seek  your  lady  out. 

PIETRO  PAOLO, 

Ah,  melody  of  May !  the  wine  of  Spring  — 

[He  looks  at  the  chaplet,  which  is  tingling  in  his  fin* 

gers,] 
I  would  I  were  out  of  this! 

FIAMETTA. 

I  doubt  not  Sidonia  hath  a  wood-full  of  lovers. 
Crown  yourself,  Pietro,  and  dance  in  her  train. 

[Pietro  Paolo  dons  the  chaplet,  smiling  ironically;  the 
chaplet  music  is  instantly  heard;  he  rubs  his  eyes, 
and  his  face  lightens;  the  Dryad  of  the  May  Day  ap- 


pears  before  him,  dancing,  unseen  by  Fiametta,  who 
is  looking  sulkily  in  the  opposite  direction.  Pietro  is 
fascinated  by  the  music  and  the  dance  of  the  Dryad, 
and  falls  to  dancing  himself.  The  Dryad  leads  him 
about  the  stage  and  leaves  him  before  Fiametta,  still 
dancing.] 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

Look  you,  Fiametta,  why  do  we  waste  our  May  Day? 

What  have  we,  and  what  has  any  one. 

To  quarrel  withal  ?    I  M  hold  it  merrier 

If  we  let  more  of  sunlight  in  our  souls, 

Spoke  free,  and  laughed,  and  made  the  most  of  youth. 

I  longed  for  sweet  Sidonia  here  anon. 

Having  her  token,  and  would  have  you  hence ; 

But  now,  in  truth  I  would  not  have  so  fair, 

So  young,  so  blest  a  daughter  of  the  gods 

As  you  go  from  me. 

FIAMETTA. 

What  sudden  shift  of  heart  speaks  here? 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

No  shift— but  I  have  come  to  sense  again. 
Sweet  lady,  let  there  be  no  more  of  wrath, 
No  biting  words ;  let  all  old  hates  and  jests 
Spin  down  the  wind. 

[He  dances  again.] 

FIAMETTA. 

Have  done  this  dancing.    Pietro,  go  away ! 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

The  only  little  spark  that  grieves  my  heart 

Is  that  I  dance  alone.    Fiametta, 

I  cannot  stay  to  see  you  look  so  sour. 

Let  me  have  eyes  that  dance,  and  lips  that  kiss. 

And  hearts  that  sing;  else  I  must  run  away. 

You,  Fiametta,  in  your  lenten  face 

And  long-drawn  temper,  make  the  world  all  grey. 

I  would  not  wait  to  irk  you.    Take  you  this. 

Wear  it  a  merry  moment,  smiling  on  me. 

And  I  '11  be  gone,  and  run  through  Spring  and  Heaven 

Till  the  vision  fades.  [He  gives  her  the  chaplet.] 


FIAMETTA. 

You  swear  you  will  be  gone? 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

Truly  I  will  -- 
Till  you  would  have  me  back. 

FIAMETTA. 

That 's  fair  enough. 
[She  dons  the  chaplet,  rubs  her  eyes,  and  the  Dryad  ap- 
pears with  the  music  as  before.] 
How  the  gold  sunlight  glitters  through  the  green ! 

[She  also  begins  to  dance.] 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

What  have  I  found  in  gold  to  love  and  cling  to, 
While  there  was  sunlight  and  a  woman's  hair ! 

FIAMETTA. 

Pietro,  you  promised  you  would  go  away. 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

Aye,  so  I  did  —  but  now  — 

FIAMETTA. 

No  matter.    I  Ve  forgotten  why  I  willed 
To  have  you  go.    Here 's  a  wood  of  wonder ; 
I  *d  not  be  alone  in  it. 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

If  you  were  minded  to  slay  me,  and  so 
Blacken  the  good  green  carpet  of  the  world, 
My  soul  would  still  float  here  and  palely  thrill 
To  watch  you.    You  could  no  more  be  alone. 
Being  so  fair,  than  I  could  close  mine  eyes 
And  blot  the  vision  out.    Ah,  Fiametta, 
Flower  of  joy;  what  flame  above  your  brows! 
All  conquered  cities  that  have  burned  for  love. 
All  sunset  lights  caught  up  in  whirling  seas. 
All  altar  fires,  and  poppies  in  the  grass. 
And  spinning  gold  that  speaks  the  love  of  Jove, 
Gleam  round  your  head  in  dear  divinity. 

FIAMETTA. 

Time  for  sweet  words  when  the  sweet  night  comes  on. 


PIETRO  PAOLO. 

Time  now  for  words— winds  that  blow  to  the  heart 

If  I  were  silent,  looking  in  your  eyes, 

I  'd  drown  in  them,  seeking  the  cloudy  line 

Where  the  sky's  blue  is  melted  in  the  sea's. 

Ah,  voyage  into  virgin  deeps,  for  me  — 

And  lands  beyond  the  dawn,  and  at  the  end 

The  golden  fleece  — 

FIAMETTA. 

I,  too,  am  taken  with  a  love  of  love. 

[She  dances  a  few  steps.] 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

Dance,  Fiametta.    I  love  you  bending  so. 
As  I  do  love  the  reeds  that  greet  the  wind. 

FIAMETTA. 

Pietro  Paolo,  for  that  it  is  Spring, 

I  'm  fain  to  dance  with  you.    And  yet  — 

[The  music  stops  suddenly,  and  she  stands  still.] 

I  feel 
Down  in  my  heart's  well,  where  the  water  of  life 
Bubbles  like  sand-springs  after  rain,  some  wave 
That  will  not  stir  for  you.    I  would  not  so 
Have  danced  for  you  in  winter,  Pietro. 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

And  I  have  always  said,  before  to-day 
That  black  hair  pleased  me  best. 

FIAMETTA. 

I  believe  you  shift  with  every  change  of  weather. 

[Enter  Sidonia.] 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

Well,  that 's  a  merry  heart,  and  a  free  heart. 
To  have  in  Spring. 

SIDONIA. 

A  free  heart,  have  you,  and  you  boast  of  it? 


PIETRO  PAOLO. 

Look,  Fiametta,  where  Sidonia  comes, 
With  morning  step,  yet  twilight  in  her  eyes, 
With  starry  nights  in  coils  upon  her  head, 
Crowning  her  snowdrift  beauty  as  with  flowers, 
And  on  her  lips  the  life-blood  of  a  rose. 

SIDONIA. 

Faithless  and  false,  what  is  all  this  to  thee? 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

Sidonia,  I  am  no  more  false  in  this 
Than  the  clear  sun  that  shines  on  both  alike. 
Here  is  a  day  for  love,  and  shall  I  waste 
An  hour  in  seeking,  moaning  what  is  lost? 

SIDONIA. 

Well,  having  found  me,  where 's  the  day  to  be? 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

Ladies : 

I  am  of  bigger  mould  than  once  I  was. 
I  cannot  be  without  you  both ;  black  hair 
I  love,  and  red  hair,  too.    Can  we  not  all. 
In  common  joy  and  mutual  delight 
Spend  the  day  together? 

FIAMETTA. 

Nay,  Pietro,  come  with  me.    I  love  you  not, 

But  I  Ve  a  merry  mood  and  a  light  foot.    Come, 

We  '11  seek  Riccardo  out. 

[She  takes  him  by  the  arm,  drawing  him  with  her.] 

SIDONIA. 

[Seizing  his  other  arm.] 
Nay,  come  with  me. 
I  '11  not  be  seen  with  such  a  train  of  folly. 
[Both  ladies  tug  at  Pietro,  trying  to  take  him  off  in 
opposite  directions.] 

FIAMETTA. 

Come,  Pietro.    She  dares  not  be  seen  with  you. 
[Fiametta  finally  pulls  him  away  from  Sidonia,  and 

they  go  off,  leaving  her  alone  in  the  centre  of  the 

stage.] 


SIDONIA. 

There  go  a  long  year's  love-lies.    Let  them  go ! 
[She  flings  off  in  the  opposite  direction.    Enter  Pan 
and  the  Dryad  of  the  May  Day.] 

DRYAD  OF  THE  MAY  DAY. 

Your  chaplet  maddens  them.    Our  spells  are  potent. 

PAN. 

Aye,  if  they  all  will  put  it  on.    Now  mark : 
They  wear  my  chaplet,  and  they  burn  with  love. 
Tree-Heart,  expound  me  this :  why  should  this  wreath 
Not  turn  them  all  to  me  again,  and  let  me  rule. 
As  once  I  ruled,  the  natural  heart  of  earth? 
My  Day  will  pass,  but  when  it  comes  next  year 
Might  I  not  find  a  welcome  among  men. 
Somewhere  a  little  temple  decked  with  flowers, 
Somewhere  an  altar  garnished,  and  a  priest 
In  unfamiliar,  loving  voice  to  chant? 
Is  this  too  much  for  one  who  was  a  god 
To  ask  of  Time? 

DRYAD  OF  THE  MAY  DAY. 

The  wreath  will  surely  fade. 

PAN. 

True,  true  —  the  wreath  will  fade.    So  f adeth  now 

The  last  dim  flicker  of  Olympian  hope. 

But  still,  if  I  can  no  more  be  a  god, 

No  longer  smell  the  smoke  of  sacrifice. 

No  longer  see  my  votaries  at  the  shrine 

In  saffron  robes  of  solemn  festival, 

At  least  I  am  not  wholly  dispossessed ; 

My  magic  holds ;  now  like  a  harlequin 

Doth  poor  old  Pan  limp  up  and  down  the  fair 

And  juggle  destinies  for  clowns  who  love. 

What  would  I  more? 

DRYAD  OF  THE  MAY  DAY. 

It  seems  to  me  good  sport. 

PAN. 

And  so  it  is.  ,  .  .  But  I  remember  well, 

Too  well,  Tree-Heart,  the  dawning  of  the  world. 


DRYAD  OF  THE  MAY  DAY. 

Can  Pan  be  sad  on  May  Day? 

PAN. 

Up!    To  work! 
Let  me  shake  off  these  haunting  memories 
That  flock  about  me  like  the  birds  of  night. 
[He  picks  up  the  key,  which  Pietro  Paolo  has  left  on 
the  ground,  and  as  he  speaks  his  incantation  over  it, 
the  musical  motive  of  the  key  is  heard  for  the  first 
time.] 
This  key  the  tyrant  made  his  token.    See, 
I  make  it  mine.    By  Hermes !  glittering  key, — 
I  make  thee  mine.    I  touch  thee,  thrice.    I  breathe 
In  secret  whisper  my  most  secret  name. 
And  now  let  him  soe'er  who  holds  thee  dream 
Of  power  to  pass  ambition's  highest  bound ; 
Twist  the  clear  common  faculty  of  sight 
Awry ;  give  him  vain  visions,  unrealities ; 
And  fill  him  with  seditions  and  revolts. 
Now,  Woodling,  watch  mine  ancient  wisdom  work 
Upon  their  mortal  folly.    Love  am  I 
For  this  day's  traffic  —  love  that  weaves  and  crosses. 

[Pan  and  the  Dryad  go  out.  Ruffo  and  Beffana  come 
in,  dancing,  followed  by  Fiametta.  They  dance  a  fig- 
ure to  the  heat  of  the  verses.] 

BEFFANA. 

Airily  dancing  in  the  day, 
Daintily  glancing  through  the  May, 

RUFFO. 

We  are  the  folk  who  herd  the  goats. 
And  like  the  goats  are  skipping. 

FIAMETTA. 

I  keep  no  goats,  but  I  wish  I  did. 
For  my  feet  are  as  free  as  the  feet  of  a  kid ; 
I  'm  weary  of  buskins  and  frocks  and  coats  — 
My  every-day  life  it  is  slipping. 


BEFFANA. 

Lady  or  goatherd, 

RUFPO. 

Mistress  or  man, 

BEFFANA. 

We  're  worshipping  Love  wherever  we  can, 

RUFFO. 

Dancing  his  dances,  chanting  his  notes, 

FIAMETTA. 

As  the  minutes  go  merrily  tripping. 

[Beffana  sinks  down  on  one  of  the  benches.] 

BEFFANA. 

My  life!  But  dancing  all  night  would  be  like  eating 
peaches.  Fifteen  seasons,  and  all  of  'em  Spring  — 
that 's  my  age.    You  have  n't  a  kid  younger,  Ruffo. 

RUFFO. 

We're  of  the  May  Day,  praises  be !  You,  me,  and  the 
goats  and  kids. 

FIAMETTA. 

Why  do  we  stop  ?    The  May  is  still  as  bright, 
Bright  is  the  sun,  and  rustling  soft  the  wood. 
Hear  the  bird-notes  calling !    Their  very  whistle 
Sounds  a  rigadoon.    Come,  my  feet  would  dance ! 
Why  is  the  spirit  of  Love  away? 

RUFFO. 

There 's  but  one  May,  and  that 's  to-day ; 

BEFFANA. 

His  breath  is  quick  in  each  zephyr  that  floats, 

FIAMETTA. 

And  the  wine  of  his  Spring  we  are  sipping. 

[Enter  Riccardo,  who  stands  amazed  at  the  sight  of 
Fiametta's  companions.'] 


RICCARDO. 

Here,  cease !    Fiametta,  what  is  this?   Where  now 
The  maiden  modesty  that  left  your  cheeic 
Ruddy  as  sunrise  in  the  summer  dawn  ? 
Are  you  a  goat,  that  you  go  prancing  thus  ? 

FIAMETTA. 

Not  I,  Riccardo.    These  are  goats,  and  I 
A  kid.    Butt  him,  good  Ruffo! 

RICCARDO. 

Cease.    Away ! 
[Exeunt  Ruffo  and  Beffana,    Riccardo  picks  up  the 

key;  his  face  changes  slowly,  and  he  leaps  up  with 

a  look  of  magical  exaltation.^ 
I  *  ve  found  it,  donna  mia,  —  mine  at  last, 
Wholly,  entirely  mine,  and  mine  alone ! 
This  key  unlocks  black  Ugolino*s  life, 
And  when  I  turn  it,  all  his  tyrannies 
Shall  blow  across  the  empty  midnight  —  lost ; 
And  I  will  bring  this  land  to  justice;  I, 
And  I  alone,  shall  rule,  deliverer 
Of  all  our  people  from  his  wolfish  thrall. 

FIAMETTA. 

What  think  you  you  have  come  upon,  Riccardo? 

RICCARDO. 

Hear  me,  for  hope  begins  to  burn  in  me. 
What  is 't? 

FIAMETTA. 

A  key— an  ordinary  key.  I 

RICCARDO. 

The  key  to  him  who  holds  beneath  his  heel 

This  principality ;  key  to  a  door 

Where  death  shall  enter  soon.    Let  silence  fall 

Around  me  as  a  cloak  to  hide  the  deed 

I  now  must  carry  in  my  heart's  hot  core 

Until  I  strike.    Silence — and  secret  steel! 


FIAMETTA. 

These  doleful  plottings  ill  become  this  wood. 
If  you  have  heels  for  dancing  —  I  stay  here. 

RICCARDO. 

[Seats  himself,  resolutely,] 
Heels  for  dancing  —  when  I  Ve  this  to  do :  — 
To  kill  a  tyrant  ere  I  dance  again. 

FIAMETTA. 

This  talk  of  slaying  goes  against  my  mood. 

Poet  thou  art,  and  no  conspirator  — 

Bays  for  thy  brow,  and  music  for  thy  breath. 

[She  crowns  him  with  the  chaplet.  The  Dryad  enters 
as  before,  and  Riccardo  rubs  his  eyes  to  find  himself 
dancing  after  her.    He  speaks  or  sings.] 

RICCARDO. 

Young  is  the  day, 
Now  it  is  May, 
Young,  too,  are  we! 
The  sky,  the  year. 
And  youth  are  here  — 
So  runs  our  glee ! 
No  song  is  sung 
Save  when  we  Ye  young : 
The  May,  the  sky. 
The  lass,  and  I  f 

[Exit  the  Dryad.] 

FIAMETTA. 

I  knew  you  poet— now  I  Ve  had  my  song. 

RICCAWX). 

[Now  doubly  bewitched,] 
Who  spcke  of  me  as  poet?    I  am  prince, 
And  men  kneel  to  me ;  when  I  cough,  they  wince. 
Nay,  I  am  king,  and  when  I  chance  to  sneeze. 
Ladies  and  lordlings  fall  upon  their  laiees. 
Indeed,  I  'm  more  than  that  —  I  'm  emperour 
And  hearty  men  fall  dead  the  nights  I  snore. 


[Enter  Pietro  Paolo  in  haste,] 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

I  have  nigh  lost  myself  three  times  or  more 
While  I  Ve  been  hunting  for  Sidonia  — 

[Perceives  the  others,] 
Ah,  here  you  are.  .  .  . 
Riccardo,  and  sweet  Fiametta,  you ! 
I  Ve  done  my  duty  searching  —  now  let 's  dance. 

[They  dance  a  measure  to  the  beat  of  the  lines,  which 
they  speak  alternately.] 

The  sweetest  of  May 
Is  with  us  to-day, 
And  happy  our  feet  in  the  measure ! 
We  are  children  of  Love, 
With  his  white  clouds  above 
And  his  shadowy  wish  for  our  pleasure ! 
So  we  trip  it  and  sing 
To  Love  and  the  Spring, 
And  close  in  our  bosoms  their  treasure ! 
[The  dance  ends.] 

FIAMETTA. 

No  king  with  countless  treasures  is  more  merry. 

RICCARDO. 

Nay,  I  am  king.    This  key  you  both  do  know. 

Shall  give  me  entrance  to  my  room  of  state. 

And  who  shall  dare  reject  my  sovranty? 

[He  gives  the  key  to  Fiametta,  who  is  at  once  made  a 

partner  in  his  magical  sedition.] 
To  you,  my  Fiametta,  I  entrust 
My  crown. 

FIAMETTA. 

I  yearn  to  offer  homage  here, 
And  be  the  first  to  kneel  before  your  throne. 
King,  in  your  court  is  there  a  place  for  me? 

RICCARDO. 

An  equal  throne,  to  sit  at  my  right  hand. 
[He  seats  her  beside  him,  and  she  beckons  to  Pietro 
Paolo.] 


FIAMETTA. 

And  you  shall  hold  our  treasures,  Pietro. 

[She  gives  him  the  key.  He  instantly  falls  in  with 
their  plans,  at  which  he  had  previously  looked  ask- 
ance.] 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

Come,  let  us  now  conspire ! 

FIAMETTA. 

And  me,  as  well. 

PIETRO  PAOLO.  \ 

For  Ugolino  now  the  clock  of  doom  '\ 

Midnight  is  tolling  forth,  and  dead  his  hope !  \ 

Ended  his  day,  and  blackest  night  swoops  down  • 

Upon  Capodimonte's  realm.    A  fire 
Is  burning  on  its  mountain  tops  that  will  ■ 

Not  out  until  the  wheezy  world  's  aflame. 

[Baldessare  passes  at  the  back,  spying.] 

RICCARDO. 

Capodimonte  is  no  more;  its  hills 

Shall  crush  its  valleys,  and  its  towers  crumble; 

Against  it  will  I  lead  vast  multitudes, 

Like  Heaven's  angels  irresistible. 

Till  with  its  petty  crown  my  brow  upon 

Another  Alexander  storm  I  hence, 

Conquering  and  unconquered,  till  the  world's 

Bejewelled  diadem  of  empery 

Imperially  I  put  by  —  with  scorn. 

[Sidonia  enters  and  stands  listening.] 

FIAMETTA. 

And  I,  clad  in  bright  armour,  like  the  sun 
In  noonday  summer  splendour,  on  a  steed 
Caparisoned  with  glory,  in  my  right 
A  two-edged  sword  as  fierce  as  any  torch. 
And  in  mine  other  hand  the  banner  you 
Have  blest,  shall  head  the  swarm,  trampling  on  king- 
doms 


O  'er  Europe  to  the  North,  o  'er  Asia 
Unto  Zipango,  and  to  Africa. 
The  crowns  of  Caesars  shall  be  yours  to  play 
At  quoits  with* 

RICCARDO. 

You  shall  be  mine  empress  dear, 
Upon  my  right  hand  sitting,  empires  round 
Your  proud  sweet  throat,  and  on  each  finger  wear 
A  principality.    The  globe  shall  be 
Your  bauble. 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

And  from  me,  most  gracious  lord, 
Deign  to  accept  such  treasures  as  I  have 
Filched  year  by  year  and  hoarded,  till  you  hold 
The  habitable  world  as  yours  indeed, 
And  from  the  haughty  summit  of  old  earth 
Your  streaming  ensign  threatens  Heaven  itself. 

RICCARDO. 

And  you  shall  be  my  grand  vizier,  and  he, 

This  Ugolino,  fetch  your  glittering  arms 

Ere  you  clasp  battle  as  a  bride,  and  when 

You  come  again  with  victory  on  your  brow 

'T  is  he  shall  cleanse  your  greaves  of  clotted  gore. 

3ID0NIA. 

Oh,  what  is  this  too  dreadful  speech  I  hear ! 

Do  you  not  know  on  every  side  they  listen  ? 

Shrewd  Baldassare  each  least  word  of  youfs 

Holds  in  his  ear,  to  give  it  forth  so  soon 

As  he  with  Ugolino  *s  met.    What  then 

Will  be  your  doom,  your  dreadful  doom  at  last? 

I  've  heard  his  fatal  murmurings. 

You  all  upon  some  too  tall  tree  shall  hang 

Crimson  and  pendulous,  like  the  month's  cherries ; 

O  Fiametta,  Pietro  Paolo,  you, 

And  poor  Riccardo,  this  your  dreadful  doom ! 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

Why  should  I  care? 


RICCARDO. 

And  why  should  I  ? 

FIAMETTA. 

And  I 
Am  sure  no  sweeter  cherry  will  be  found 
Than  I  shall  make. 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

It 's  that  for  Ugolino ! 

[Snaps  his  fingers.] 

RICCARDO. 

His  poor  authority  sets  me  asmil^. 

FIAMETTA. 

spring,  the  spider,  has  stung  me  in  my  soul, 

And  all  my  blood  leaps  in  the  tarentelle. 

Come,  let  us  dance  a  while  —  one  moment,  wait. 

[To  Sidonia.] 
We  cannot  dance  while  your  \vhite  face  is  long. 
Come,  laugh  a  little  with  us  now. 
[She  crowns  Sidonia  with  the  chaplet;  the  Dryad  eur 
ters  and  dances.    Sidonia  leaps  up,  crying,] 

SIDONIA. 

I  am  a  child  of  the  great  god  Pan ! 


[All  dance.] 


RICCARDO. 

And  I! 

FIAMETTA. 

And  I! 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

And  I! 

SIDONIA. 

I  am  his  maid ; 

RICCARDO. 

And  I  his  man; 

FIAMETTA. 

I  am  his  daughter! 


PIETRO  PAOLO. 

And  I  his  son! 

OMNES. 

We  are  his  children,  every  one ! 

SIDONIA. 

All  in  the  month  of  May,  say  I ! 

RICCARDO. 

And  I !        , 

FIAMETTA. 
And  I! 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

And  I! 

[The  dance  ends  and  they  seat  themselves;  exit  the 
Dryad.] 

SIDONIA. 

My  heart  between  its  monuments  of  snow 

Holds  you,  Riccardo ;  yet,  years  leave  me  wise : 

I  fain  must  see  in  Pietro's  glistering  hoard 

Of  gems  and  gold  the  solace  that  may  soothe 

Importunate  Time.    Yet  needs  must  I  conspire 

With  you.    I  have  at  home  a  cimetar  — 

My  sire  won  it  — with  which  methinks  I  choose 

To  lop  off  Ugolino's  crest,  that  he 

May  stand  no  taller  than  we  common  folk. 

RICCARDO. 

Sidonia,  there  's  a  halberd  in  my  house 

Would  reach  the  frame  of  one  upon  a  throne 

As  with  a  hook,  and  once  it  haled  him  down 

To  us  —  haled  down  in  kindness,  understand  — 

He  'd  be  our  height.    My  fluttering  pulse  responds 

To  yours.    Though  Fiametta  long  ago 

Let  my  best  love,  like  proffered  violets, 

Lie  on  her  virgin  breast ;  yet  you  I  love 

As  well.    And  these  the  lines  I  wrote  for  you. 

Dear  mistress  of  the  milding  nights  of  May: 

[Sings  or  s peaks, \ 
Out  of  the  dusk  comes  my  lady  fair. 
Out  of  the  dark  as  the  mist  rolls  by, 


Dusk  on  her  brow,  mist  in  her  hair 
Evening  in  her  eye. 

Tender  her  voice  as  the  wood-bird's  note, 

Silvery  sweet  through  the  twiHt  rest ; 
Sunset  her  cheek,  moon-rise  her  throat, 
Fleurs-de-lys  her  breast. 

DarkHng  and  bright  as  the  starHght  clear, 

Wistful  with  hope  as  the  new  moon's  ray, 
Cometh  my  own,  cometh  my  dear 
Lady  of  the  May ! 

FIAMETTA. 

The  sweet  strains  breathe  of  roses  'neath  the  moon, 

Riccardo  mine,  and  to  Sidonia 

And  her  soft  darkling  splendour,  they  are  as 

The  stars  to  night.    Would  that  they  were  for  me ! 

RICCARDO. 

Fiametta's  loveliness  is  of  the  sun. 

[Kneeling  before  her.] 

FIAMETTA. 

Ah,  your  least  singing  word,  O  poet  and  lover 
Of  mine,  brings  me  the  beauty  of  all  time 
Sung  by  all  poets ;  for  their  radiant  songs 
Are  pearl  and  sard,  jasper  and  chrysoprase, 
By  music  delicately  borne,  as  when 
The  fairy  blossoms  of  the  almond  float 
In  amorous  zephyrs  lingeringly  down. 
Being  a  poet's  inspiration  's  sweet ! 

[She  sighs.] 
Love  songs  and  war  songs :  I  've  a  poniard  here. 

[To  Pietro.] 
Canst  not  a  poem,  too,  Pietro  mine?    If  not 
In  carven  words,  why  —  deeds  are  better  still. 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

I  have  a  battle-mace,  heavy  and  spiky. 
My  grandsir  wielded  in  the  holy  wars 
Against  the  Paynim ;  deeds  I  '11  offer  you. 


While  for  you,  Fiametta,  cherish  I 
Tenderest  aflfection,  —  still,  my  heart-strings  yield 
More  wistful  melody  when  Sidonia  comes. 
If  but  the  twilight  dusk  of  her  sweet  hair, 
Like  lilies  of  the  nights,  may  sweep  across 
My  welcoming  face,  such  tunefulness  is  mine 
As  hath  the  viol  when  some  seraph  plays. 
[Sidonia  and  Fiametta  embrace,  and  Rice ar do   and 
Pietro  Paolo,] 

FIAMETTA. 

And  next  Riccardo,  you ! 

SIDONIA. 

And  you,  my  dear, 
I  hold  next  Pietro  Paolo's  honeyed  self. 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

[Td  Riccardo.] 
You  with  Sidonia  share  my  very  soul ! 

RICCARDO. 

Fiametta  alone  surpasses  you.  .  .  . 

Now  let  me  grasp  my  halberd  in  my  hand 

And  pull  this  Ugolino  down. 

FIAMETTA, 

And  I  will  shear  his  poll ! 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

And  I  his  pomp 
Of  bearing  will  make  small  with  my  great  mace ! 

SIDONIA. 

The  while  I  pierce  his  boasty  pride ! 

RICCARDO. 

Then  come 
And  arm  ourselves ;  upon  the  castle  move : 

'  [Enter  Ugolino,  silently,  at  the  back,] 

'T  is  a  good  deed,  and  better  kindly  done ; 
So,  one  embrace,  sweet,  lasting  —  and  to  work ! 
We  shall  have  Ugolino's  thanks  anon. 

[They  embrace,  with  mutuality.] 


Ah,  sacred  moment  in  a  blessed  day ! 
Why  spells  it  not  a  long  eternity  ? 

PIETRO  PAOLO  AND  SIDONIA. 

Why  not? 

RICCARDO  AND   FIAMETTA. 

Why  not? 

UGOLINO. 

[Sardonically,  as  he  comes  down.] 
Why  not?    What  is  't  I  see? 
Two  wondrous  pairs  of  pirates  have  I  here, 
Cooing  full  featly  in  the  vernal  wood. 
My  friends,  my  loving  friends,  what  bliss 
Must  this  be  that  you  find  in  ladies'  eyes, 
In  sleek  and  ready-lying  courtier's  tongues  I 
Ladies,  it  gives  me  joy  to  see  your  love. 
For  me  there  is  no  stirring  of  the  blood, 
No  heart  at  gaze  nor  lure  of  Spring.    But  you 
Do  mock  me  in  my  loveless  lonely  state. 
So  be  it.    These  Arcadian  joys  of  yours 
May  serve  you  well  when  I  have  cast  you  off. 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

Have  we  not  served  you  well,  my  lord  and  prince  ? 

UGOLINO. 

So  well  that  I  '11  be  served  by  you  no  more. 
I  do  suspect  you  all. 

[They  laugh.] 
You  dare  to  laugh  1 
My  premonition  lacks  some  open  flaw, 
A  single  crime  to  touch  and  say :    For  this 
I  banish  you.    I  have  endured  you  long. 

,  [Enter  Baldassare.] 

BALDASSARE. 

Oh,  sire,  the  faithful  watch  you  bade  me  keep 
Upon  these  four  is  ended  here.    They  all 
Are  guilty  of  high  treason  'gainst  your  life, 
And  of  conspiracy  against  your  throne ; 
Now  all  their  heads  stand  forfeit  to  the  State. 


You  bade  me  watch  them.    I  have  heard  such  words 
As  might  be  seen  to  fall  like  eager  blades 
Upon  their  speaking  throats. 

UGOLINO. 

O  faithful  one, 
Thou  darkling  friend  of  melancholy  kings, 
Now  do  I  see  them  as  they  are.    The  truth 
Doth  bum  within  me,  and  I  know  their  hearts. 

[To  the  four,] 
Now  shall  you  bare  your  sacrificial  throats 
Against  the  headsman's  edge.    For  you  must  die. 
Thrice  proven  traitors  to  my  princely  self, 
And  to  Capodimonte  utterly 
Faithless.    My  vision  now  grows  clear. 
Quick,  get  you  gone  upon  the  castle  road ; 
Tarry  not  now,  for  in  the  deepest  deep 
The  dungeons  under,  shall  you  rot,  until 
The  day  is  come  wherein  your  heads  shall  off ! 

RICCARDO. 

My  head  is  small,  your  Grace,  and  little  holds 
To  make  me  sigh  for  losing  it,  but  I 
Shall  truly  feel  aggrieved  must  I  go  in 
And  lose  the  May  Day  sun  within  the  house. 

FIAMETTA. 

Far  rather  lose  my  head,  O  sire,  than  lose 
The  golden  locks  that  cover  it.     But  —  oh! 
How  can  you  think  of  housing  us  this  day 
With  such  a  sun  and  such  a  sky  above? 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

My  locks  and  head  alike  may  go  from  me 
And  I  should  laugh  — if  laughter  were 
When  the  head  *s  missing.    But  lock  me  up 
While  the  birds  sing!    I  '11  none  of  it— not  I. 

SIDONIA. 

I  think  we  have  not  heard  your  Grace  aright ; 
You  can  not  mean  that  we  must  within  walls 
Spend  any  part  of  May  Day  ?    Let  it  go 
Until  to-morrow.    Then  take  off  our  heads. 


UGOLINO. 

Now,  Baldassare,  draw  your  gloomy  blade. 

[To  the  four.] 
Now,  since  you  value  not  these  empty  heads 
And  set  such  store  by  out-of-doors,  he  shall 
Behead  you  all,  and  all  of  you  remain 
Dissevered  under  the  sun  and  sky  for  ever. 
How  like  you  that  ?  You  care  not  ?   Mad,  —  all  mad ! 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

I  see  it  now.    Your  Grace  would  emulate 

Some  mighty  tyrant  of  an  ancient  tale 

And  tread  in  blood  a  festal  path  to  joy. 

Be  Nero,  sire,  and  let  me  offer  thee 

A  chaplet  for  thine  entrance  to  the  games ; 

Be  Nero,  and  go  garlanded  with  death. 

[He  takes  the  chaplet  from  Sidonia  's  head,  and  offers 

it  to  Ugolino.    The  Prince  hesitates  a  moment,  then 

wa^es  it  away.] 

UGOLINO. 

You  make  too  great  a  festival,  my  friends, 
Of  this  your  sudden  and  untimely  end. 

[Sidonia   rises   and   takes   the   chaplet    from   Pietro 
Paolo.] 

SIDONIA. 

Now  by  great  Pan,  who,  as  the  legends  say 
Doth  rule  in  Italy  till  May  Day  night, 
You  show  us  but  a  pallid  courtesy. 
Since  we  are  dead  already,  most  dread  lord. 
Shall  we  not  for  the  moment  have  our  play? 
You  were  not  happy  in  our  living  love, 
And  now  shall  we  not  find  you  gay  with  flowers 
When  you  have  rid  yourself  of  us  ? 
[She  offers  the  chaplet,  which  Ugolino  takes  in  his 
hands.] 

UGOLINO. 

It  seems  that  I  have  cause  to  smile  in  this ; 
Your  treasons  and  your  mockeries  are  done ; 
At  last  you  give  me  joy.    My  mockery 


Is  this,  to  deck  myself  with  coronals 

Now  that  I  rid  myself  of  you,  since  all 

Of  you  are  dead  already. 

[He  crowns  hifnself  with  the  chaplet.  The  Dryad  ap^ 
pears,  dancing  before  him;  his  face  relaxes;  he 
smiles;  his  body  sways,  and  he  begins  to  dance.] 

Pan's  is  the  prettiest  play  that's  played! 

[As  he  speaks,  the  other  four  leap  up  and  join  in  the 
dance.] 

FIAMETTA  AND  RICCARDO. 

Say  I! 

SIDONIA  AND  PlETRO  PAOLO. 

Say  I! 

UGOLINO. 

And  I ! 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

I  am  his  man ! 

FIAMETTA. 

And  I  his  maid. 

SIDONIA. 

And  I  his  lass. 

RICCARDO. 

And  I  his  lad. 

OMNES. 

The  loveliest  children  that  ever  he  had ! 

UGOLINO* 

All  in  the  month  of  May,  say  I. 

SIDONIA  AND  PIETRO  PAOLO. 

And  I. 

FIAMETTA  AND  RICCARDO. 
And  I. 

UGOLINO. 

And  I. 

[The  Dryad  dances  off,  bringing  Ugolino  face  to  face 
with  Baldassare,  who  stands  expectant,  with  drawn 
sword.    The  glow  of  sunset  comes  over  the  scene.] 


BALDASSARE. 

When  shall  my  work  begin,  your  Grace  ? 

UGOLINO. 

[Mildly.] 
Why  now  disturb  conviviahty, 
While  vernal  effervescence  stirs  the  blood, 
And  we  are  fed  on  honey  of  the  May  ? 
These  are  my  friends,  affectionately  disposed 
To  me,  as  I  to  them,  chiefly  in  this : 
That  they  admit  me  to  their  company 
In  all  good  fellowship  and  joy,  despite 
My  recent  yearnings  for  their  hearts'  best  blood. 

BALDASSARE. 

And  all  my  lonely  spying  and  dark  proofs,  -^ 
Are  these  to  waste,  and  justice  be  no  more? 
My  thirsty  blade  has  earned  this  treasonous  blood, 
And  shall  it  thirst  for  ever  ?    Let  me  work. 

0  grant  me  this,  dear  lord. 

UGOLINO. 

Lord  me  no  lords ! 
We  're  equal  here  in  nature,  human  all. 
With  lot  and  share  in  all  the  world  's  best  good. 
Crown  me  this  thirsty-bladed  man,  and  let 
The  glancing  lights  of  May  dance  round  his  head. 
He  has  been  faithful ;  let  him  not  be  sad. 

BALDASSARE. 

[Kneeling.] 

1  write  this  mockery  on  a  vengeful  heart. 

[Fiametfa  takes  the  chaplet  from  Ugolino  and  stands 
over  the  kneeling  headsman.  Enter  Ruffo  and  Bef- 
fana,  who  stand  watching.] 

FIAMETTA. 

Yours  be  it  to  see  life  as  one  great  whole, 

The  -rock,  the  tree,  the  river,  and  the  field. 

The  cloud,  the  beast,  and  their  blood-brother,  man, 

Drenched  by  one  dew  and  rain,  warmed  by  one  sun 


And  sky,  blown  by  one  wind,  wafting  them  on 
One  fate  between  the  two  eternities. 

[She  crowns  him  with  the  chaplet.  Both  the  Dryads 
enter,  dancing  before  him,  and  he  dances  slowly  and 
grotesquely  after  them,  chanting.] 

BALDASSARE. 

I  sang  the  scaffold  made, 
The  muffled  drum, 
The  shivering  culprit  come, 
The  falling  blade; 
The  great  bell 's  weary  toll, 
The  passing  soul ; 
But  now  the  firstling  bud 
Doth  sting  my  blood 
With  finer  throbbing  than  the  blade 
Hath  ever  made; 
And  love  within  my  breast 
Hath  heartier  zest 

And  deeper  woundings  than  the  block  may  meet  — 
Love  and  the  Spring  are  sweet. 
[The  others  fall  in  behind  Baldassare  as  he  chants, 
swinging  around  the  stage  in  a  processional,  Baldas- 
sare at  the  close  of  his  speech  falling  in  zvith  the 
Dryad  of  the  May  Day,  Ugolino  with  the  Dryad  of 
the  May  Night,  and  the  others  in  couples. 

RICCARDO  AND   FIAMETTA. 

Love  and  the  Spring  are  two  of  the  three— 

PIETRO  PAOLO  AND  SIDONIA. 

Say  I, 

RUFFO  AND  BEFFANA. 
And  I, 

UGOLINO. 

AndL 
Station  is  folly ! 

PIETRO  PAOLO. 

Wealth,  vanity; 


RUFFO  AND  BEFFANA. 

Labour  is  sorrow ! 

OMNES. 

Pan  is  our  king  1 
Sing  hey  for  Pan  and  Love  and  Spring, 
All  in  the  month  of  May,  sing  hey, 
Say  I,  and  I,  and  L 

[As  they  dance  around  the  stage,  the  procession  is  les- 
sened as  couple  by  couple  drops  off,  and  disappears 
among  the  trees.  As  the  last  couple  makes  its  exit, 
Pan  is  disclosed  laughing.  The  lights  dim  to  night 
as  he  speaks  the  epilogue.] 

PAN. 

Gone  is  the  day  with  all  its  mirth  and  madness ; 
Come  is  the  night,  and  promise  of  fulfilment; 
How  have  they  fought,  these  men  and  e'en  the  im- 
mortals, 
'Gainst  the  soft  promptings  of  their  master.  Love ! 

What  is  the  worth  of  princes  and  their  power, 
What  can  avail  much  wealth  and  secret  hoarding. 
What  mean  the  blade  and  bravery  of  the  warrior, 
Weighed  'gainst  the  whisper  of  their  master.  Love? 

Even  the  gay  plot  wherewith  is  sought  the  woman. 
Even  the  sweet  grace  whereby  the  maid  escapeth. 
Even  the  dear  thought  of  wistfulness  and  beauty. 
What  all  their  meaning,  uninspired  by  Love? 

This  is  the  key  whereto  all  doors  stand  open, 
This  the  one  spring  wherefrom  pure  water  welleth, 
This  the  fine  warp  through  which  man's  joy  is  woven. 
This  earth  's  one  heaven,  gently  ruled  by  Love. 

Gone  is  the  day,  with  all  its  woe  and  warring ; 
Come  is  the  night  and  promise  of  the  morrow ; 
Earth  rests  and  smiles  beneath  Love's  blest  dominion  — 
Love,  friend  and  servant  of  the  great  god  Pan. 

CURTAIN,    i  i  hi :  \  :       :*»;*• 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY, 
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